pretty little ribbons
by maevestrom
Summary: Zelda, Sheik, a fighting tournament, the Machine, Impa, magic, the holiday season, and a marionette doll forever on center stage. These are the ingredients in a potion made for transformation.
1. half awake in a fake empire

**A/N- So I actually wrote this at the tail end of 2015. I kinda needed to, but I discouraged myself hard from posting it. Then I reread it and like kinda liked it? At the very least I want to post it. There's a lot to edit but it was a very important thinly veiled metaphor for a very important time in my life so it's important to me.**

 **I tried to go for a sort of old-style character novel. Like, a lot of those novels sort of meander a lot around character's thoughts, and I wanted to provide that sort of perspective while also doing it... right? Haha. The character is the most important part of any story but especially this one.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing, regret nothing, and let them forget nothing (that's how you know this is retro haha)**

Close your eyes, cover your ears, strip yourself naked, lie motionless, and who are you?

When the world around you is a non-factor, you're floating on air, you've stripped yourself of your senses and you are completely disconnected, who are you?

Feel yourself, not physically but spiritually. From the inside. Who are you when you don't hold yourself back? In your core, I suppose you could call it your soul, who are you? What do you want? What are you willing to do to get it? When you meditate there, a veil of nothingness devoid of the masks the world gives you and the cultures you fall into, what does your mind fall into?

Desire.

I have lain alone for countless nights, not out of choice or loss. It's not angst that drives me to strip my layers away, sexuality that drives me to seek the comfort of my own skin, or jealousy that leads to me moving heaven and earth to be alone, falling into myself, eyes closed on silk sheets, motionless, door locked, hands dutifully at the edges of my bed, alone, feeling nothing but the heart in the center of my chest, connected to every vein that carries my body in ways bones and skin cannot do alone.

Nothing provokes me but a simple desire to find myself.

I've spent those countless nights trying to find myself, what I want, who I am, what I can do. When I let myself go, when I release the meditation, I release my mind and its thoughts. The moment I do so, it runs to what I desire most, clear as a bell after being restrained, a prisoner seeking sunlight that dared not seep through the bars.

Desires, however, are nothing if not coupled with action.

This is a story about such action.

* * *

If my calculations are correct, it has been one-hundred-and-seventeen days since my twenty-sixth year of nativity. In those times, I have grown as any human should. As a child, I started on my mother's breast until I became capable of eating solid food. Spiritually, I was the same, guided as a child through easy decisions until I was released, given a leash to make my own decisions. However, while physically I became capable of digesting more than food- knowledge, understanding, wisdom, courage, the spirit of the goddesses- my decisions have never reached the point of difficulty.

I've been told such a state of life is called a luxury. I'd never imagined luxury to be a life as a marionette doll.

A concept like a doll, how loaded it is. It is a child's plaything, a pretty little canvas devoid of meaning, personality, humanity, until people project their own visions of perfection, desire, and acceptability onto it. The doll is never its own entity. The doll is whatever others make of it.

The strings on my arms and legs became more and more noticeable when what I consumed began to overpower what I was made capable of. The strings are subtle, for they do not control everything I am. I can walk on my own, act on my own, make my own decisions based off of what I have. However, the second I stray too far, risk something further, let myself go, the strings stop me, freezing me in place and slowly pulling me back to center stage where I belong.

The princess is a kingdom's headline act, after all.

* * *

The star act needs a scene set for her. The set piece was the castle, from which the fate of quiet Hylia was controlled. The puppeteer was a well-meaning, loving father that was the nation's king, a man I respected and loved regardless of what being his daughter meant for me. The story was that of minor decisions and the training of a princess to eventually transform from a bored girl with nothing important about her to a bored woman with nothing important about her. The co-star, for a far too short time in my life, was the only unique person I'd ever met in the castle.

"Impa!" 10 year old Zelda shrieked, running through the halls, her head covering flowing in her own breeze. There was no fear for this girl, not yet. Children are fearless, because children are stupid, and I was a stupid, fearless child. It's no coincidence that being a child was often the most fun I had in my life, although I'm not sure Impa would say the same.

My Sheikah guardian angel Impa found me by a cellar door, pointing in excitement. It was a cold day, so around her neck was a white scarf. It was the only soft thing about her; strong, well-tested muscles, solid metal suit around her chest with bold blue garments around it, pointy Hylian ears, and decorative war paint over a cold, unamused glare that her charge, a mischievous 10 year old, had screamed across the castle just to play with her.

"So you're not dying," she confirmed.

"Nope!" Fearless, stupid me confirmed with a smile.

"And you are not in danger."

Slowly, I got it. "Oh. Uhm, no."

"Yet you feel the need to shriek bloody murder for me across the castle halls."

"Ohhhh."

Impa smirked, used to theatrics from the star doll of the show. "I shall remember to recap the story of the Princess Who Cried Wolf when it comes time to put you to bed tonight." Finally seeing that I was humbled enough, skin blushed red and eyes downturned, she eased into a smile. "What would her majesty like today?"

"Well…" Still feeling like my request was stupid to ask of my guard, I choke it out. "I really wanted to go down into the cellar. But I didn't want to go alone."

"Why would that be?" As usual, not content to do anything without a few probing questions.

"Well... " As usual, not content to answer without stammering like a stupid kid. "I'm just really bored, and I wanted to try something new."

Impa held her chin in her hand, just above her scarf. "Where is your father?"

"In a meeting."

"The other officials and workers?"

"There too."

Impa smirked, that devious smirk that informed me that my harebrained childish stunt was a go. "I see no reason why not."

Before I could even cheer, she kicked the cellar door open. "Stay close to me," she instructed, as I looked in awe at the darkness and dimming light.

I grabbed her hand and oohed in interest. What was such a simple wine cellar to her was to a child an underground labyrinth. I remember as I reached up for her, a fond, if not envious, smile from Impa. "After you, my liege," she said, in a familiar sarcastic manner that still had a twinge of parental admiration I'd not heard from a woman in my father's eight years as a widower, and never since.

Slowly, we walked in. The dark was hard to see through, even with the occasional torchlights highlighting wine racks and empty shelves. Being so small made the world around me so large, and in many ways I was unprepared for it, yet electrified at the same time. I shivered from the cold, and Impa wrapped her scarf around my neck without fail, too powerful to be bothered by the temperature. I never thanked her, but I should have. I'd occasional hear the skittering of small animals and jump straight into Impa, who always caught me.

"Are you afraid?" she asked.

"Yes," I responded, "but I like it."

Impa hmmed in a way I'd later realize was placing a bookmark in a scary story from her mental library come bedtime, and squeezed my hand. As I explored the world around me, I imagined that it made me stronger, like the woman who guided me through this meaningless expedition. Turns out, it was only a shadow of bigger self-imposed challenges.

After all, how does the star act rebel?

* * *

Secrets.

They can give you your lines, your duties, your purpose. They can set the boundaries, give you the props, and tell you what you are supposed to do. They can dress you up in whatever they want and make you a character.

However, the actress in center stage still has a working human mind, and a thousand lost treasures could be discovered before a secret could be found in a strong mind. Twenty-six years of putting on a show can make a mind stronger than gold. It's important to separate yourself from a character, after all.

Let's say someday you go against the plan. Part of it is deliberate. Impa's rebellion was to create her own little side stories with the charge she was supposed to stay detached from, teaching her about her culture as a Sheikah despite the child having the attention span of a gnat, using those techniques to give her a one-time escape plan from danger, and nearly giving her life for the little girl who all too often took her for granted, before helping a young stranger in a green cap with a dinky sword become the hero she couldn't be to save her.

Even as a princess I know how sweet rebellion is, the alluring feeling of stealing power from those who hoard it. Part of it, however, is the acceptance that you are not fit for the role, never will be, and accepting that, because once you rebel you can never return to stage.

Myself as an example, what character am I? A princess. A princess' story has been told countless times before to little girls who themselves crave the power and luxury I should in theory have. In many of those stories, of course a theme is true love. There is something to be said about the story of a princess too often being boiled down to finding a desirable mate, but to complain about that would be hypocritical. Of course, in these stories, there are always the suitors, auditioners to the role of a prince for later adaptations. I never minded the suitors. Nice enough people. I'd suppose they were attractive. However, there was an obstacle, something that kept myself from obtaining a king to transform into a wise queen.

That is my secret to keep, though, although not for long. Allow me to keep it for as long as I can manage; it's the one thing I have left and I'd like to hold onto it until the perfect time to release.

* * *

If you've followed through the pretentious ramblings of a woman who finds herself far more clever than she likely is, hopefully you've prepared for a tale worth telling rather than the blase, normal episodic drama of a princess too long left undeveloped. There have been more exciting tales involving me, but less so of those about me. This tale I hope is one you enjoy. One of secrets, of romance, of scandals, in a lovely winter setting during a frenetic high-stakes competition where two lovers will… we'll go with the term "meet", but it's a term used quite loosely. I hope it is a story you enjoy, for it is the last I will perform before I cut my strings and end the play permanently.

It starts, of all places, at a fighting tournament.


	2. we don't bleed when we don't fight

The decision to join the Smash Brothers tournament seemed quite honestly like the least likely one a princess would take, for an audience would always envision me beside the throne of my father or a future husband, looking over the land without action and basking in the glory of its existence. However, I have never been a woman to celebrate achievements I have not earned.

The world saw me taking a break from hosting tea parties and brushing my hair, in order to stand on a new stage with the most unlikely group of legends. With my closest companion Link to one side, and my capable adversary Ganondorf to the other, I stand as the wall that separates them from conflict. _Now, now, boys,_ I think as I stare at the audience of thousands of cheering fans I inherited through one simple application and months of training. _There's no need to fight over me when I plan to defeat you both on my own._

Pride always seems to blossom in a garden of potential. The potential of a pretty blond elfin with porcelain skin, an elegant blue dress, and no weapons other than a lifetime's worth of gluttony from the tree of knowledge, to defeat this group of twenty-four in a fighter's game, considered the game of strong, strapping men like the angel and devil at my sides… oh how sweet it would be.

We are the three pieces of a triforce. Link is courage. Ganondorf is power. I am wisdom.

Courage is the quality of a hero. Power is the quality of a ruler. Wisdom is the quality of a winner. Now it was time to see if my wisdom was up to the test.

I would soon learn that it was not.

* * *

You are my audience. Imagine yourself where the thousands of fans sat, in the bleachers of a stadium, the announcer introducing us all with gusto. Let's say you haven't made up your mind like the ones with posters made to support their favorites, souvenirs pledging loyalty to heroes or villains one would never meet, chants prepared for every success one would face. You are just an impartial observer who would like to see which of the twenty-four people comes out on top, on a snowy winter day when school is out and the holidays are near.

We stand on a stage modeled after the Pokemon culture battles, all in a row. I, of course, am the sickeningly beautiful young blonde waving cordially at the audience like four boring years in charm school have taught me. The vast majority of fighters are at least vaguely human. Some fill the everyman role more than most, just happy to be there to represent themselves. Then, of course, there are those with their own character, to the point where showing off is more important than victory. Of course, then you transition to the beasts, the animals, or the animalistic. Some operate as you'd expect a human to, perhaps even better. There are also those who have burst straight from the jungle, a fight as instinctual as breathing.

Then, there is an anomaly. A robot. Not quite a robot, actually. Apparently someone was operating the robot suit. Someone completely unknown, someone who never stepped out from behind the curtain, had a deadly robot suit as their own marionette. Unlike my own predicament, I had a feeling this one was deliberate.

I suppose it goes without saying that most of them (save for Pichu, of course) could probably destroy a common person like yourself in a streetfight. Put yourself in my shoes. Who would you fear the most? I would say that you are a fool if you did not fear the unknown. Bowser is powerful, but I know he is slow. Ness is small, but I can learn the habits of his PSI powers. I can watch all of these people in our boarding house, observe them, and study how they interact. I can learn who they are. Looking at our mysterious robot fighter, I saw nothing but my meek reflection in the helmet of the machine.

I suppose the long story shortened is, The Machine became my white whale.

* * *

The Machine became a legend not just in my own mind, but in the eyes of others. It could only be found in matches on the stage; you'd never see it in the rooms of the dorms where everyone else would get to know each other and reveal the souls behind the performer. It'd never be found in the halls of the stadium, to or from a match, interviews, or other tournament customaries. It could never even be found in the resting room directly after a match, as if it had no need to recover. The Machine was simply an entrant who came into the arena, took its kills out on the innocent fighters, and left without a trace.

At first, it was such a fantastical concept that one could forget it even existed. We had other people to worry about before a machine had even entered our consciousness. Thus, I entered the tournament as fresh as a rabbit, and would soon be destroyed and dragged along the ground like a hunter's catch.

My first matches deceived me with their simplicity. Perhaps it was ego that consumed me during the initial matches, as I'd bought into my own narrative of the powerful princess who defeats all of her enemies. Certainly more engaging of a narrative than the princess who held meetings and put forth inconsequential laws about road paving and village maintenance.

However, outside of my narrative, I'd faced something I rarely faced in my own life up until that point, and it created an forgotten, rarely experienced element in my life: challenge. Challenge was something I'd not faced for nine years since one very iconic incident involving myself, Link, Ganondorf, and a surprise fourth player. It never changed my life, it simply interrupted it, and it was back to the tea parties and hair straightening. Even then, I never felt quite the same. I believe it was the first time in my life I was left wanting more when I safely returned home.

However, after the easy fights against Pichu and Game-and-Watch, I tasted my first bit of defeat to Ganondorf. He'd yet to win a match against Link, but he'd dusted me in our first tournament match. Courage was in the lead, and Wisdom had just taken a crushing. Needless to say, my world was shaken up.

I remember there being lots of bitter tears, an embarrassing amount. I bowed gracefully after my loss, left the arena, did the post-match interviews, and went to bed knowing my shot at winning wasn't over since these were just the preliminaries. Yet, I still went to bed crying my eyes out because I had already failed. Even further crushing my hope, I'd lost to my adversary Ganondorf, a man who had been the bane of my confidence for ages.

I woke up in a daze the next morning. I put on my dress, I reread all my spells, and I went straight to the gym. I went through sandbag after sandbag trying to perfect my combinations, nearly set the room on fire trying to execute my magic attacks with ease and grace, and ran nearly a thousand miles trying to perfect my agility, my run, my physical ability. Yet, there was no denying it. I felt weak. I felt like a little princess trying to battle in a queen's robes.

To make matters even worse, my next match was against The Machine itself.

I prepared to leave the gymnasium and take my mind off of the battles until it was absolutely necessary. As I exited, however, I heard a voice call my name, a familiar one I hadn't expected.

"Princess."

I stood strict and upright as a stone wall as I faced my enemy, if only to hide my embarrassment and shame. "Ganondorf."

Ganondorf stood before me, easily a foot taller than I and possibly a foot wider as well. I'd already learned the hard way that I was not lithe enough to escape his brute strength, so I faced him dead-on and let him speak.

"As I would do for anyone," he began, "I wish to prepare my opponents for the battle ahead so it might be a fair fight."

I smirked. "What a gentleman you are."

A gleam in his eye, he responded, "Yes, this I am aware of. I am sure you can find the glory in a fair fight, where both opponents are at their peak and a winner will be chosen by skill. I also know that you are not as equipped and experienced at fighting as your potential allows."

A hand on my hip, I responded, "And I suppose my lifelong adversary would like to give me a few tips?"

Ganondorf simply nodded. "I believe you to be a disjointed puzzle not put together properly, with a set of skills you have yet to coordinate. Because of this, you do not have anything above the rudimentals. Your weakness is not being weak, it is your inability to find your strength."

I cocked my head, saying "is that the case?" to hide how intrigued he had made me.

"That is how I see it."

"I'll be sure to write it down."

Ganondorf laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. "I hear your match with the robot is tomorrow. You should take this into account. Even they are someone I could not speak to."

The idea of even the bold and powerful Ganondorf being unable to approach the God of the Machine should have made me more apprehensive, but the idea of someone putting him in his place was one I never found any less joyous every time it happened. I stifled a giggle and nodded. "I'll see you on the battlefield," I told him.

"Likewise, your majesty."

With that, he was gone, although not untraceable as his metal boots clanked through the gymnasium. I carried my feet through the halls and back to my room. As much as I hated to learn a lesson from Ganondorf, his words were inescapable as they echoed through my head. Eventually I would resume my meditative position of nothingness, but the silence was consumed by his words. The more I thought about them, the more I realized that he spoke not only to my playstyle, but to who I was.

I'd been suckered by pride due to my potential, never to realize that it was all I had. I may have been a marionette doll, but was I molded into a character worth watching?

During my meditative state, I fell back into the sea of desire, and I tried to piece together myself as a fighter. Who am I? (A small, slender woman with weak physical skills). What are my skills? (Magic, defense, an obnoxious kick to the shin that seemed to stop people in their tracks). What will people think of me? (They will underestimate me, but cannot predict me). How can I make an identity out of this?

That last question was what ground my process to a halt, as I realized I had no clue who I am.

I would later realize how severe that would be.

* * *

I descended onto the stage feeling as dainty as a flower, and as easily crushable as one. The transporter dropped me gently feet-first onto the field, then left, buzzing as it propelled up into the air. I checked my chest to make sure my Coat-of-Arms was on. It wasn't yet, so I pressed the button. I've yet to understand how a machine can create a thin exoskeleton shield that prevents one from facing any pain or injury in a fight, but I would be a fool to look that gift in the mouth considering the beating I took my last match that likely would have cracked me in half.

I clasped my hands together in silent prayer. On my dress was a tapestry from the halls of Hyrule, resting between my legs. Triforce earrings laid just below the edges of my crown, the ruby gleaming in the eyes of the cameras. On my shoulders were gold plating that let me feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. On my chest, they united, the emblem of Hyrule just above my bosom for the world to see. I was dolled up as the perfect representative of Hyrule, picture perfect, ready to fight, destined to fail.

With no pomp and circumstance, The Machine leapt out of the transporter, punching its shoulder to activate the exoskeleton. Despite the suit seeming to weigh enough to crush even Ganondorf, it moved like the most poised of gymnasts. The knights in my court would never be able to match the dexterity of the Machine. I knew I was against a God unlike any I've ever prayed to, and I feared that they would not be able to match it.

I took my hands apart, and looked the Machine square in the helmet. All I could see was myself shaking like a newborn in a rocking chair. The strings were going haywire.

I let the countdown commence, and as soon as the announcer shouted "Go!" I leapt into battle in the most literal fashion, clawing into The Machine with a burst of magic. It shuddered, recoiling slightly. I prepared to launch another attack on her, but my thoughts were interrupted by a missile directly into my face. The Coat of Arms kept me from feeling the pain, but I still recoiled, feeling more than a little dizzy.

Not a worry in the world. This is simply how fighters say hello.

It became a dance with the devil. My magic and its weaponry grabbed each other, twirled around, released, repeated. I got the jump on it and dropped it into myarms, dipping down like a suave romantic. At other times, it would grab me, spin me around, and leave me dazed and punch-drunk. It became alluring, to keep time with it, and I found myself feeling the thrill of the fight. Eventually, I broke it off, pulling out my secret weapon. I leapt into the air, landing a sharp kick on the helmet that mirrored my weaknesses back to me. With more force than my foot should ever have had, the magic kicked in, and The Machine was launched through the edge of the stage. I was a stock ahead, and I finally felt like a winner, cockily waving after it. _Come back, Machine, I desire to pulverize you some more._

That feeling lasted for all of five seconds afterwards.

The Machine came back with a vengeance, content to paint itself red with my blood. Before I could react, it crashed upon me like a storm. Punch after fire after tether after electric shot to the gut, I became its sandbag. It turned from a 3-2 lead to a 2-0 defeat before I could even have the position to fight back. The dance had turned into a ravaging, and I was not going to leave with a clean dress.

By the time she'd finished the match, spiking me down the pit and into the safety netting like a child kicking a rock into the river, I was more grateful than I was upset about losing.

* * *

I didn't cry that time, yet even my one kill against The Machine was not enough to be a small victory. I realized that even after all I did, there was little that changed. Was I inferior, or was The Machine too advanced?

It is amazing how empty one can feel. To match my skin, my inside felt as hollow as a porcelain doll. I was a pretty princess that was picture perfect of Hyrule, yet I was as incapable of holding my own as the legends painted me to be against Ganondorf. I should feel ashamed, or I should logically have told myself I was being asinine. Instead, I felt more like nothing than the barest of meditation should have. I, as Princess Zelda, was not competent enough.

However, whenever I lie down in such a form of meditation, I find that when I am done, I must dress myself again from my feet to my head, taking the doll and clothing it to play its part. Emotionally and mentally, the same is the case. However, when I lay down that day, I was already empty. When I fell into my desire, I was already redressing. It started off strangely, because I had drifted off into being a fighter. I felt my flaws. Too slow, too weak, too thin a defense, too frigid, too dainty, too pretty, too made up, too ideal, too fake.

I began to redress myself, because my desires wanted to create someone new.

When I awoke out of my daze, I decided to buy a scarf.


	3. take me down and all apart

Winter had hit the city the day I arrived for the tournament, and Junction City was now dusted lightly with snow. There had been severe snowstorms for awhile, but the machines were out every day, cleaning it all up, paving the sidewalks for princesses to walk through like commoners.

I missed the crunch of the snow beneath my boots that I loved in the cobble streets of Hyrule's villages. While the humility of much of our nation did create boredom in some aspects, much like a warm campfire, it was comforting. Junction City was cold, metallic, uniform, and so massive it became daunting. Walking its streets were like walking on the arm of The Machine, waiting for it to jerk away and punch you off of the face of the Earth.

Oh, what The Machine had done to me where I could not even go Holiday Shopping without fearing its wrath.

Thoughts of the tournament rattled in the back of my head as a loose group of comrades I'd made walked through a trendy shopping neighborhood. Mother hen to all Peach, as could be expected, led the way, excitedly talking the stores up as though she were a tour guide. Behind her could be found Link, Falco, and myself, listening like dutiful students. Falco had a notebook out, writing down the details, while every so often Link would lose concentration and look around the streets, awed and bemused by the goings-on of the city, as if he was seeing it in a new light for reasons I knew not.

"So this store up here is great for jewelry!" she explained as she pointed to _Gold Standard Jewelry_ , while I watched Falco scribble down its name, cross it out, and write "expensive-ass shiny shit no sane person should buy". Link nodded, abruptly leaving to go in without so much as a transition.

"Uh…" Peach jerked her head around. "Bye, Link!"

Falco laughed, a distant smile on his face as Peach continued. "So, yeah. I guess jewelry is Link's thing. I don't know what I could do with it, honestly, I've got too much!"

"Too much, she says," Falco whispered, elbowing me. Having left the flashiness of my uniform at home for a periwinkle coat and tundra hat, I laughed knowingly. Neither of us mean any harm; Peach is cartoonish in a way that turns around and becomes sweet. She was born for the princess role and, unlike myself, plays it straight.

Unaware of her social gaffe, Peach continued, and we followed her. "Over here's a good place for machinery!"

I nearly jump out of my skin as we get to _R.O.B.'s Electronics._ Falco places a feathered hand on my shoulder, physically pulling me off of my tiptoes and back into a normal walking position. I nod a quiet thank-you, not wanting to acknowledge my own social gaffe.

"This is a good place to find any techy-tech your heart could ever desire," Peach described, as Falco grinned in anticipation, writing the name down with a capital "FUCK YES" beneath it. "Cellphones, televisions, gadgets, gizmos, and other techno wizardry. I've been meaning to find myself a good alarm clock here, but if it plugs into a wall or has a battery, it's in here."

I notice Falco write down "alarm clock" underneath his expletive and nod. I elbow him and smirk. He nods with a sly grin, and says to Peach, "I'm gonna take a gander in there, ma'am. You take care, I'll catch you later, a'ight?"

"By all means!" Peach waved as Falco sauntered off. When he was out of sight, she turned to me and said, "I'm glad at least one of them could be a gentleman today."

Falco Lombardi, ruffian street fighter pilot, is the last person I expected to leave the day with the moniker of gentleman, but I figured come Christmas day he would earn that title permanently. Now, it was just myself and Peach, left to scour the neighborhood for gifts.

I'd little experience with the generally shared holidays of the street fighters like Christmas, but as human beings are selfish beings, I noticed one vein that ran through the hearts of all of the holidays I'd ran into: giving and receiving. Look forward to the receiving, and try not to mess up the giving.

I don't remember what I'd already gotten Link that day. I do remember what I got Ganondorf, but it's of no importance to the current scene. People often get wrapped up in the giving/receiving cycle as giving and receiving from others. All too rarely do people decide to give a meaningful gift to themselves. I certainly had never thought to.

Now was my time.

"Peach, if I may save us some time," I suggested, stopping her in her tracks. "I would like to find a clothing store."

She slapped her forehead, as if not thinking of that herself was a shame worse than murder. "Gods, that's a great idea. Uhm, let me see. I think there's one just over there."

She _thought_ , she didn't know, but considering she hadn't differed from her blinding pink dress and parasol for the entire tournament, I couldn't find it a shock. I found myself aimlessly wandering in the direction she pointed as she waved goodbye, cheerfully wishing me well as though I was heading out to war.

All the more fitting, because this was my time to suit up for battle.

I found the store, walking in, doing things I barely care to recount, until I found the scarves. As if there was any need to discern, I snagged all of them off of a rack and dashed into the nearest dressing room, my bounty in my arms. Giggling with excitement like someone watching their racehorse take home the gold, I tried each one on. I took in the color of them near my lips, the feeling of them on my skin, the the weight of each of them on my shoulders, lighter than the Hylian plates I wore to battle and somehow much more beautiful than the golden brooch at my neck. I felt more free already.

A part of me wanted to take them all home, but I knew I could only take one. Fifteen different scarves could make fifteen different people, but I only wanted to be one different woman. I could already feel it happening, and I was excited.

I eventually found it, in a scarf white as the snow I missed, softer than a lover's kiss, a scarf that reminded me of everything I truly loved about home. Not the gold, not the castle, not the leadership, nothing that high, but someone everyone up there took for granted.

My Sheikah guardian angel, Impa.

I looked at myself in the mirror, feeling stronger than I'd ever felt. This was all the battle armor I needed.

* * *

One item can remind you of so much, and I'd forgotten about Sheik for so long. It was a different part of my life, and one that would be overshadowed by further conflicts of the same type between Hyrule and Ganondorf. Somewhere along the way, I'd left behind the one time I had the power I'd craved, lost in seas of monotony.

Sheik was Impa's escape plan for me once, and now she was to be one again.

The Sheik I used to escape was unrefined. She was half-forgotten culture lessons and a few Deku Nuts that ran from danger and gave the hero advice when she could. No, that was not who I was bringing back. The Sheik I wanted to be was to be more than a caricature, an alter-ego I had no loyalty to.

First things first, I started by staring Zelda down in the mirror, bottle in hand. A few chants were all I needed to fill it up to the brim. In the bottle was her essence, a replication from head to toe of her. A contingency plan, if you will.

Scarf around my neck, I read up on the Sheikah culture in ways I never did as a kid. It was my new passion for a good week of getting demolished in the preliminaries. The dream of a princess being the dominating winner of all her foes wasn't my storyline. Zelda was a shell I didn't fit. When I read the books about Sheikah, I believed I was reading my own DNA. This was who I wanted to be. Strong, quick, independent, capable, mysterious, Earthy, able to fade into the woodwork yet stand out in a crowd all at once.

She was a work of art, and she was about to become mine.

A scarf grew into a scarf and a cap, then a suit followed, the patch completing it. That was the outfit. Then came the weaponry that even Sheik never had. Deku Nuts were accompanied by needles and chain, and my potions no longer came out of my hands like firecrackers, but were consumed into my DNA. I was the scientist of my own creation.

I became carried away, obsessed. The potions threw my body into a tailspin, but I was more than ready to sacrifice myself to the goddesses for this outcome. The potions tasted like cough syrup, and felt like poison, tearing apart the temple my spirit called home and rearranging it into what I hoped would be even better. Some days I could barely stand upright, others I held back vomit and choked down food despite my body trying to send it the other way. Some nights the pain would make me cry, and I could never meditate because all I could think about was the cocktail of physical pain and emotional triumph. Trekking through the weakness made me feel stronger than I'd ever been.

But sometimes, deep beneath the surface of the unavoidable pain and the intrinsic excitement, a different churn to my stomach. Fear. Apprehension. A unique sort of disgust and turmoil of a soul that longed for relief from the obsession that I let consume me. Some days I tried to focus on other things. I tried to read different books outside of that of the Sheikah. I tried to walk into the city as Zelda and enjoy the Holidays. I tried to associate with my peers, talk about their lives while avoiding mine. In some aspects, I enjoyed it more than I ever had. The streets of Junction City in the midst of good company talking about places I'd only heard of, prospects of romance that I was not involved in, and singing Christmas carols I didn't know the lyrics to, that was my escape where I no longer focused on my transformation, and instead on the then and now.

It was always the same four of us- Link, Falco, Peach, and myself. I remember walking against Link, my ever-silent companion, who held me up as I struggled to walk without questioning why. Falco, again surprisingly eager to join us, talked about the Christmas dinner he was used to with his crew, while Peach happily listened. Like Link, I was silent, finally understanding why he preferred to live life this way. My stories were not ones I wanted to relive, so I let others have a venue for theirs.

"Every year, our ship was down on the ground," he said. "No one's flying today. It's not about battles or jobs or mechanisms or any of that. Not about our enemies or our strife. It's about us as people, united together, but also about us as individuals. And I feel a lot of people forget that."

"I never really think of it that way!" Peach mused. Falco nodded, speeding up way too quickly to join her side. I elbowed Link with a smirk, which turned to a grimace as my hollow bones echoed a sharp shock through them. He gave me a look of concern.

"I'm okay," I lied. He closed his eyes and nodded, not venturing into my world as usual. He'd become my new bodyguard in Impa's absence, but without any of the relationship that made Impa special to my life.

Falco and Peach's relationship was much more interesting as I watched it. "Yeah," Falco continued. "I mean, you're a doll. You really are. The sweetest lady in the entire damn city. But just make sure you're all good with yourself come the holidays. Sometimes you can't rely on your allies to take care of you."

That word again, doll, for a princess who relied all too much on other people taking care of her, is a usage I could forgive. However, as Peach giggled and accepted the compliment, taking Falco's hand with a smile, I couldn't help but realize she was much happier than I.

Still, Peach was hesitant. "I dunno… I mean, being royalty, I know I've got the power to make others happy, and that's a lot of fun if you do it right. And I feel like I've got the right people in my life that make me happy. So I get kind of distracted."

Link smiled knowingly, hand in his pocket. Even from my vantage point I knew it was wrapped around something small and likely meaningful. I choked back a horrified gulp, hoping to all three goddesses and several more that it wasn't meant for me.

"You've got it together," Falco told her. I realized that even though, given Peach's reputation of being a capture-the-flag prop between Mario and Bowser, he meant it. "You just gotta realize that even if it don't sound so sweet, you are the most important person in your world. You're piloting the mothership of Peach, and no matter how good you are to traffic around you if you crash you're gonna cause a pile-up with you."

"Well, my way of being good to myself is being good to others," she replied, "but thank you. I think you're one of the smartest people I've ever met."

Falco Lombardi, wise and noble gentleman, and Princess Peach, strong and confident leader. I'd admit that those were two descriptions I never thought would fit them at all, yet seeing how happy they were with each other, I felt the cold derision around myself dissolve like someone turning off the Coat-of-Arms I'd put up around myself. I didn't know what to think, other than the fact that they would likely receive a happily-ever-after just like in the storybooks.

Me on the other hand, I had different plans.

* * *

Of course, others worried about me. After crushing me 3-1 in a match, the Ice Climbers met me in the recovery room below the stage, where I often found myself reeling from a lost match. Both of them stood over me as I lounged on a couch, eyes closed, trying to find what little strength I had in this cracked shell of a body struggling with mutation.

"Are you okay?" Popo asked. I nodded silently.

"Okay," Nana replied. "We were just worried about you."

"Worried? Hmm."

"Yeah," Popo continued. The Ice Climbers spoke like two children passing a toy ball between each other- simplest terms, perfect rhythm. "We know you're not giving your all."

"You're better than this," Nana added.

"Don't worry about me," I told them. "You have bigger fish to fry."

"True, I guess," Popo responded, "but some things are more important than a game."

"This I know," I told them, opening my eyes. "Believe me."

Nana put a hand on my shoulder. "Just take care of yourself, girl. Okay?"

I nodded. "Same to you. I hear you're facing The Machine tomorrow."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the two of them look at each other, then back at me. "The machine?" Popo asked.

I chuckled, as I hadn't realized my nickname for the entity had never escaped my own mind.

"You mean Samus, right?" Nana asked.

"So that's his name," I mused aloud.

"Her," Popo clarified.

"Her. Whoever she is, she needs someone to put up a good fight." Of course, ideally that would be my job, but I wouldn't want anyone else to get too hurt by her.

"We'll be sure to do that," Nana told me. "Take care."

I closed my eyes before I could watch them leave. I wasn't meditating, I was daydreaming. Thinking of The Machine, standing tall before the audience, unfazing. Thinking of me, the perfect fodder for a fighter. Then, before the countdown ends, whispering a few chants under my breath and feeling my body transform into the fearless warrior Sheik. Shocking the world by putting up a fight so amazing Samus' machine was cut in half, exposing the puppeteer to the world.

You would almost think the teased love story was between myself and I, but that will come in time.

* * *

One morning I woke up, and I realized the process was complete. I was ready. With only three days until the first tourney match, at that. No more pain, no more fear. I felt a change, although not to an extreme extent. I could not envision myself jumping from rooftop to rooftop or bringing down trees with one chop.

Yet. Give me time.

I stripped off Zelda's clothes and prepared to meditate once more. I fell into the emptiness with ease, spent an hour cleansing myself in nothingness. Then came the resurgence. Sheik, in the flesh, simply being a human being. Simply being me.

I left my daze, and put on a brand new outfit, putting my dress haphazardly in my closet like a skeleton that would come out another day. I looked in the mirror. I already saw the differences, as subtle as they were. My eyes, formerly blue, took on a violet tint, halfway to red. My features, formerly so angular and sharp, had begun to soften. My hair, as blonde as the rays of the sun, became as pale as straws of hay. I was perfect.

Now it was time for the final step of the plan. I took one of the many newly emptied potion jars I had and repeated the same chants that I had at the beginning of my transition. As I heard the words come out of my mouth, they sounded foreign, rough as tree bark and weathered as battle armor, and was close to giggling. A new replication potion formed, and I quickly put it in a cabinet with the scant few I had remaining. All of my cards were on the table, and now it was time to play.

Like a shadow, I crept out of the dormitory. Everyone was either asleep or already enjoying the Christmas ceremonies. It was the day of the Winter Solstice, the day Hyrule celebrated the day finally repelling the night once more. That was the beginning of our new year as opposed to an arbitrary calendar date. Likewise, it was my time to celebrate a new day.


	4. fearful fear and dead devotion

A new star actress needs a new stage, and I found mine in the unfamiliar yet still recognizable streets of Junction City. My performance would be to a general audience boring, but to me it was rapturous.

To understand the story perfectly, one must understand what I want. All I want was to become the embodiment of my view of perfection. Were you to walk through the streets as someone who was absolutely perfect in your eyes, being what you wanted to be, were you to have spent your life in shackles before finally breaking them, could you help but dance?

I'm amazed that I was not dancing that day. I was beyond butterflies in my stomach; they were frogs leaping around, each iota of my body a new lilypad for them. I held in my joy as I walked along the riverside, adjusting to being a few inches taller, seeing the world from a new vantage. Each step lacked the pain it once had, and no longer moved with the orderly, poised step in tricky high heels. I moved in my jumpsuit like water through the rivers, never being halted by any obstacle.

All you would see is a normal man with a slightly peculiar jumpsuit.

I shan't bore you with details of my day, for I hope the feeling itself could describe it better than I could. As is typical of life, the excitement happens when one dares to stay awake at night. Tonight was to be my opening night, and I'd had nary a rehearsal.

* * *

The love story. Yes, you've been waiting nearly eight-thousand words for me to get this far, possibly wondering when my self-congratulatory piece of the work would be over. Fear not, for that is not how this story ends. There are a lot of things I gave up with Zelda, and easy fixes are definitely amongst them.

Being the Winter Solstice, it was already 4:00pm when the city lights began to flicker on, and the sun began to descend behind a gray barrier of clouds, shining blood red behind it. I was not in a trendy shopping neighborhood; that was too tame for my standards. I was in the center of the city for the first time, surrounded by towering buildings and an influx of traveling people, decked head-to-toe in clothes that blocked the cold weather and denied approachability. No better place for a mistress of stealth to be than unrecognizable in a crowd of thousands.

As I tightened my scarf and embraced the warmth it brought, I realized that there was one person on the edge of the crowd entirely different from the rest. Before I could even assess anything, I was intrigued.

She was a blonde woman with slight features that denied emotion. She was dressed only in a white tank top and identical jogging pants, bare arms around her knees. Like Impa would for me, I felt a desire to wrap my scarf around her and try and keep her warm, but instead I only sat next to her on the side of a marble walkway, hesitant to say anything. I've never been one to make the first move, after all. That's not how I was brought up.

That was my initial thought, but then I realized how insignificant it was right now, and how much it didn't belong to me anymore.

"Hello."

The woman turned around at the sound of my voice, looking me straight in the eye. Her lip, pale and brittle from the wind, teased at a smile. "Hello yourself," she responded. She turned away again.

"You cold?" I asked, trying not to betray my nervousness. _New situations,_ I reminded myself. _I am a new man. Stop acting like Zelda._

She looked down at her arms, as if she just noticed. "Y'know, I kind of am. I didn't expect to be out here for very long. Was supposed to meet someone here."

As much as I tried to stop myself, I gave the woman my scarf, thinking of Impa. She thanked me, wrapping it around her arms like wrist tape, as if she too was preparing for battle. "Thanks. Promise you if my date doesn't get here within the next five minutes we can skip town."

"Quite an abrupt shift," I replied.

"Never look a gift babe dead in the mouth," she countered.

I looked above me at a nearby building, which bore a digital clock on its side. 4:09pm. Already nine minutes late, I guessed. How impolite.

"So what brings you out here?" she asked me. "So impeccably dressed, as well."

Damn her for taking my scarf and leaving me to blush. "Uhm… simply enjoying the weather."

"Yeah, and I'm Princess Peach," she snarked. Surprised, I observed her face to see if she was telling the truth before my mind caught on that she was being sarcastic. Thankfully, I was, as far as I knew, the only smasher to don an alter ego that day. She paid me no mind. "The weather is bland and cold, and they won't let any of the snow stick around, so it's a complete wash."

"I like it," I insisted.

"Then you must live a lovely life." To my surprise, she smiled, and it looked sweet on her. "I wish I could enjoy the smaller things like that."

I realized she moved closer to me when I felt the texture of my scarf on my neck again. I gulped, but choked out, "Sometimes you need a personal change to give things a spark you'd never seen on them before."

"Very nice."

"I think so."

I glanced at the clock again. 4:11. Three minutes left, or so I thought. She stood up abruptly, my hand suddenly in hers. "You know what," she said. "That guy's an asshole. Fuck him, let's go."

I followed her, unsure of what to expect. I barely knew the slightest thing about this woman, and I knew not if she even had my gender correct, but she wanted me to accompany her, and like a sailor to a siren, I kept in time without a second thought.

* * *

Recall the secret?

I'm sure you've figured it out.

Not even five minutes later, we were on a ferry, standing on the deck. My scarf was on her neck, her hand was on my shoulder. I'd never thought to take tourist attractions up on their offers without the provocation of Peach, and here I was letting someone else take me everywhere. Unlike Mama Bird Peach, however, this was different. This was not Impa leading me through the cellar. This was a new, electric feeling that none of the suitors I'd met have given me. It was not the smooth feeling of comfortable relationships, it was the combative, tumultuous, challenging spark of attraction that crackled through my bones.

And, by the goddesses, I barely knew who she was!

I was better off that way, certainly.

The sound of the boat's engine was louder than my thoughts, so my feelings were all I had to go on. I enjoyed the silence as she showed me the world, and it'd taken my inhibition away. The fact that she wanted me with her made me her fool, but I felt as though everything would be okay.

From our sides, I could see the waterfront where I started my journey. Just after that was the stadium, large, metallic, and imposing, like The Machine, at this point so miniscule in my mind- it was, after all, just a machine. Still, I avoided looking at it and traced the ripples of the water as the boat tore through it. Finally, I spoke over the engine. "It's lovely."

"You think?" she shouted. "I like it too."

"Have you ridden this before?"

"Yeah, everyday. To and from work. I usually ride a different one, but all of them are practically the same. Still, that's for work. And this…"

"Yes?"

"Not so much."

"Ah."

"You realize we sound like morons shouting like this, right?"

I ended the noise by shrugging. She smiled and leans into my arm. I liked it, and I liked her. I was surprised that she was moving so quickly, but I suppose I'd never had a time to authentically move at my own pace.

Since she was so close to my face, now I could hear her when she said, "you're an interesting man."

Thank god she knew I was a man. "Thank you. You're definitely not like most women I've met."

"Oh really? And how are most women you've met?"

I sniffed. "Boring."

"Hmm. I never grew up amongst good company, but ever since I moved here I've ran into a lot of interesting people."

"And I'm just another interesting lady?"

"No," she replied. "Usually I go to them. You came to me. Must be part of that new woman thing."

"I wouldn't look a gift babe in the mouth."

Despite the word 'babe' falling out of my mouth like an awkward stone, she laughed with a sigh, and it became quiet again. It stayed that way until we pulled into shore. As it slowed to a crawl, she separated from me, only connected by the scarf that slowly stopped blowing through the breeze and lay at her hips. I followed her, unsure of what I was doing, only knowing that following her was the best thing I'd done since I got here.

* * *

Some activities never change no matter where you are. Like the holidays, they are universal. Sitting aside an endless ocean on the shores skipping rocks was one of those things. The rocks felt foreign in my hands, which had become so long and graceful, but the stones hitting the water felt ever the same, whether here, in Hyrule, or anywhere else in the universe.

She and I sat on the shore, like I'm sure millions of people have. Between us was a small tape player, playing the music of a deep-voiced man who seemed close to crying with every word. It seemed to fit the way that when she wasn't focused on me, she looked detached and lonely in a way that would defy any confession. I didn't talk her up on it, throwing another stone, feeling more Link than Impa at the moment.

We hadn't made serious talk. I wasn't sure if we were supposed to. It seemed that the moment the princess strayed off set she'd forgotten all of her lines, so anything I was instructed to say to my suitors had left my head. She was different; unlike the suitors, she was real, presented as a peer and not a future superior. She was just her, a person. She was also a woman, but that went without saying. As significant of a change that was, it was also completely insignificant in that I just wanted somebody to love.

I instead tried to stumble into more small talk.

"I like your music."

"Aw, thanks," she told me. "They're a good band."

"He has an interesting voice. Very emotional, yet not at all." Suitably poetic.

As usual, the surrounding actions faded when we talked. All I could recount are words. "Yeah, that's what I like about him. He's got character in that voice. Probably a million stories that made him that way, and even if he were to tell them in a handful of songs you could probably figure out the rest."

"Like the way you look into the water."

Damn it to hell. She pulled her knees up to her chest, the nearest stone untouched. To try and not look like as much of a moron as I felt, I threw that stone in the water.

"What makes you say that?"

On the spot now, my mind shut off and my feelings took over. "Whenever you look at me or act towards me, you're on. The second you think I'm looking away, I still notice you. It's kind of hard not to notice you."

"And I'm off then."

I looked away, feeling like I'd gazed a hole through her. "Yes." I huddled up like she did, my knees to my chest, until I felt her hand on my cheek, turning me back towards her.

"You're right, you know," she said. "And it's not really that big of a deal that you said something. In fact, I think your honesty is kind of a turn-on." A turn-on, that was a term that escaped me until it was too late.

"Thanks."

"You were right about one thing, one little change can do so much. Like a lonely woman trying to actually give herself someone to care about for the holidays, in whatever way she knew how. Luckily for me, I ran into you, the woman of change."

"Luckily for us."

"Us. Hmm."

I released my legs, completely forgetting about the stones, and instead letting her clear the distance next to me, setting the tape player on our legs between us. As our legs touched, and her space became mine, I realized how similar we were for this holiday season. Both of us were taking risks for ourselves, which became risks for each other, to change who we were, to make ourselves freer than we'd ever been.

The tape player took over the dead air between us. I could hear the words he was saying now, but they were overshadowed by a smooth, if unrefined voice from her mouth, the words coming out in a rhythm like she was reciting scripture, every line ending with a jagged edge. I listened, fading in and out of focus as I let the moment overtake me, staring at the lake.

I kicked the stones from my side, clearing the field and leaving me vulnerable to her machinations.

" _Everything I love is on the table."_ His voice this time, not hers.

I found myself agreeing with him when she kissed me. It was on the side of my neck, where my scarf wasn't there to protect me. I let her, feeling as though her lips had frozen me in place like a paralyzer. My breaths were shallow, not quite panicked but definitely caught off guard in a way I didn't know how to fix until her lips met mine.

That's when Sheik took back what was his.

Like I said, some activities were universal.

Every ounce of self-loathing, of loneliness, of abandonment, of loss, of denial, of being shut out of my own future, all of it was countered by one simple kiss. I had the power over my own fate, and my decision was to give my first kiss to someone I wanted to, someone I was attracted to, someone I could see myself making mine.

That feeling lasted for all of five seconds afterwards.

She would test my faith before I even had my own, her hand trying to worm its way into my suit.

I broke away and shouted "No!", although shouting was a generous word considering it sounded more like I had been shoved underwater and was gurgling for breath.

"Relax," she told me, leaning in again. "I'm good, don't worry."

I realized I was losing power, but not without a fight. "I don't want to. Not yet. I barely know you."

"That's the fun of it."

Goddesses damn it all, she didn't seem to understand pure English. "Just stop. I'm not like this."

"I thought you said you were trying to change." With that, she wrapped her arm around me, sitting on my legs, the look on her face no longer seductive, but desperate, like she was trying to keep her last possession.

Doubt returned, straight to my core. I had wanted to change who I was completely, from my heart into all my veins. Yet, here I am with everything I want, and I don't want it yet. I didn't want her throwing herself into my arms. I didn't want her to make me her possession. I just… I didn't want to sleep with her because I am not the kind of person who rushes into things, no matter whose skin I wear. For whatever reason, that wasn't what I wanted. It never was, and it never would be. I was tired of never working for what I got, and I wasn't going to dive into a shallow victory.

I guess some fundamentals never did change.

"I need to go," I told her. She responded by putting her arm on my shoulder, trying to pin me down in a panic. When given panic, I responded with panic, taking the tape player that was still on my leg with my free hand and smashing it into her face.

"I'm sorry!" For whatever Earthly reason, I shouted that back at her as I ran away. I could see the blood on her face, and my heart leapt in its throat. I watched helplessly as she took my scarf, wrapped it around her face, and collapsed on the beach, shaking as she became smaller and smaller as I ran away.

The music still played, and I didn't know how to stop it, so I kept running. She never did follow me, but that didn't make the fear subside. I had to wait until I was on the ferry until I could breathe again. Without my scarf, I felt naked, and I huddled on the deck of the ship and stared at the stars, fearing that if I left my past self behind, I had left the goddesses with it. Shaking and tearful, I prayed to every goddess I knew for strength and forgiveness for any wrongdoing I may have incurred, so desperate to escape what I knew I forgot that my roots were still my anchor.

An attendant found me and asked if I'm okay. I nodded too quickly to be convincing, but he left me alone. I held the tape player in my hand, and finally found a button that made it stop. It spat out a cassette tape, which read "The National" on its surface. I placed it in my suit pocket, not willing to give it up, but not willing to listen to it either. I held the player close to me like my own child, hoping that if it saved me once, it would save me again. When my breathing was normal, I finally let myself relax until the ferry ride was nearly finished. Absently, I looked at it and found a piece of tape with the owner's name on it, and… well, I'm sure you all have put the dots together by now.

 _Samus Aran._

As though it'd turned into a burning coal, I yelped and launched it into the water. I fell back into myself and began to cry, feeling weaker than ever knowing I had become The Machine's victim once more. When I gave up Zelda, I gave up the princess' happy ending with it, but no change of form could lead to me winning over the Machine that scared me into changing.

It seemed like I'd ran myself into a corner, and I'd run out of string, simply collapsing into a lifeless heap of nothingness. Was the show over? Were the strings unrepairable? Had the curtain already dropped on my fantasy?


	5. i could walk out but i won't

**Many apologies for the delay.**

I arrived late enough for it to be as empty as it was when I left and collapsed straight into bed, changing nothing. I slept through the next day, trying not even to think whenever I sporadically woke up and ignoring the knocking on my door. I didn't want to feel anything; not the fear, not the loneliness, and certainly not the attraction.

It was the twenty-third when I finally decided to face the world once more.

First things first, I disrobed. This was a peculiar disrobing, to undress a radically different body than the one I had left. Despite my sheets feeling nauseating from my sleeping marathon, making me want to launch out of them on touch, I allowed myself to try and meditate. The nothingness didn't last worth a damn, never to return. All I could think about was the duality I set for myself. I had run into things like an innocent, stupid child, and I tried to take so much from one to give to another that when the second plan fell through, I had nothing but the contingency plan. Even then, I didn't know what to make of it.

I hated so much of what being Zelda meant for me, but there was so much I learned from her that I couldn't leave. That left me with Sheik, but all of the power I had as her was taken from me, and I knew that Sheik alone wouldn't be enough.

This time, I had no clear desire to fall back into, just a colorless mess of conflict that made my stomach tie up in knots.

Eventually, I did get up, giving myself some room to breathe and changing into Zelda. The sudden change was, as to be expected, enough to knock me out for another two minutes.

Then I got up.

I found my Sheik suit and exchanged its place in my closet for Zelda's dress, but as I held the dress, I still felt something wasn't right. It was only then I remembered that my scarf was gone, and sighed again. It was almost enough to make me go back to bed, but I wasn't going to fall into that trap again. I clothed myself and found myself looking through the closet for something to replace it so I wouldn't have to go shopping again. I'd brought plenty of clothes, but still no scarf, and such a simple oversight was nearly enough to crush me.

Defeated, I sat in the closet, trying to think, trying to cure myself, when I accidentally kicked a box that was near my feet. Absently, I picked it up, rummaging through it to see if my inner strength could be found by any chance.

Luck of the draw, I found it.

The box of memorabilia went untouched throughout the entire tournament, keepsakes to remind me of the life back home. Things I wanted to leave behind as Zelda, only to find there was one thing that had never left me the entire time.

My guardian angel Impa, and the exact same white scarf she used to keep me warm. The last token of a woman who gave everything to a woman she considered a daughter, before dying never quite knowing that the woman grew up considering her to be a mother.

To my credit, I made it through the revelation with only a few sobs. I held it to my chest, thanking Impa profusely and throwing in a few apologies while I was at it. I took deep breaths, tied it around my neck, and left the closet as I was meant to do for twenty-six years.

I prayed to the goddesses again, vowing that I would never lose faith in them if they never lost sight of me, in any form. I put away Sheik's clothes, by no means abandoning it, but leaving it for a later date. As I dropped it down, however, I heard a loud clank. Curious, I dug through the suit before realizing I'd left the cassette tape in it.

I realized I hadn't lost everything, and that as Sheik I wasn't incapable of taking what I needed out of life.

I left the room and immediately traced my way to Falco's, knocking on the door. Groggy but cheerful, he answered, although not without a puzzled look.

"Hellome hellome."

"Falco." I went straight for the request; no better person to ask than the guy who beelined to the electronics store. "Do you have a cassette tape player?"

Looking at me like I was a madwoman, he turned away and picked up his notebook. "Dead… audio… format…" he mumbled. "Got it."

I giggled, not quite hating the way it sounded.

* * *

If you're looking for a happy ending, I must remind you that when I gave up being a princess I gave up easy fixes. There is no easy, comfortable way to end this story. It took only a few hours back in my body as Zelda to realize that I was still in a stranger's body, and I was again conflicted. Should I become Sheik, or settle for Zelda?

Consensus opinion amongst you readers would dictate that I would turn to Link for advice. If not, then I would pray for guidance, or remember the women of my past. Longshot opinions would dictate that I could go to Peach, someone who performed my part better than I ever could. There could even be a percentile of you who believed that Falco held the key to my change. Ganondorf wouldn't even be considered as an option by most, but you'd be surprised.

However, if you were reading the story correctly, you would know that no one held the key to my change except for me.

Easy fixes were the way of the past. There was no middle ground. I had been burnt as Sheik, but I wasn't entirely wrong. I was simply too brash. I could become Sheik, but the pieces of my heart that were built by Zelda would still remain.

However, I looked down at my chest during my last few hours of Zelda, and I realized that I still had Impa's scarf. It was a souvenir from my life I took to give me strength. As I moved from one life to another, I had no shame of taking the good that I learned with me. How to build relationships with others. What makes a bold leader. The love of my family, blood and spirit. The love of my nation, and the desire to make it strong, even if my ways of giving it strength were unconventional.

I suppose what I considered was that I could neither be the princess I was or the Sheikah I tried to be. A large part of self-actualization was the _self_. I couldn't hide in either costume of someone else without me.

The body of Sheik was what I wanted, but I neither could nor should avoid who I am as Zelda to fit a character.

I wasn't perfect, but I was okay.

* * *

On the evening of the Twenty-Third, before the first tournament match on Christmas Eve, everyone except for Samus gathered outside of Crossroads Park beneath the Christmas Tree. I stood there as Zelda, and I was at peace knowing it wouldn't be for long, but I had found ambivalence towards her, acceptance. I also knew this wasn't goodbye.

I watched Falco awkwardly pull the alarm clock out of his bag before Peach nearly jumped his bones, embracing him and squealing thanks that he listened to her. I saw the Ice Climbers exchange homemade trinkets, each looking patchy and imperfect, but in a way that implied experience and reflected their relationship. I watched with relief as Link pulled out a golden necklace, and wrapped it around the neck of a surprised Doug Falcon, who pushed his shoulder with a laugh before dramatically lifting him up and kissing him on the forehead. I could play it off by saying I wasn't surprised, but that would be a lie. The Link/Falcon couple was rightfully the talk of the fighters.

It was not until the moment I saw them detail their story, arm in arm, close in a way that made me feel comfortable for them instead of fearful, that I realized how much I'd missed.

"So this boy and I," Doug explained with all the dramatics his booming voice would allow him, "started off as sparring buddies. Now, neither of us knew, certainly. Mama always told me not to assume, so we continued working together. He never spoke outside of the field of battle, and I found that odd. One day, I finally confronted him on it, and he explained."

"Just wasn't used to everything," Link explained. Had I a cup, I'd have dropped it upon hearing Link's voice form words. Doug nodded with a fond smile, clapping him on the shoulder, at once a friend and a lover.

"So what do you do when there's an adorable guy who trusts you enough to say that? Well, I don't know about you, but I went ahead and took him to a few bars, to break him in. You'll never truly find the soul of a city if you don't start at the rawest place. Course, I'd already had my routines from years of living here that I didn't stop to think of how queer," Doug stopped, letting the others jeer his sense of humor as he grinned, "my favorite venues were."

"Only men," Link clarified.

"Turns out this guy was pretty perceptive, more so than I, who hadn't even stopped to think of how blatant I looked."

Link shrugged. "I was fine with it."

"And thank any God you can think of for that," Doug said, "because otherwise that could have been disastrous. We put all our cards on the table, downed a few, and we became closer friends. But now that we knew, I guess we knew, ya know?"

"I know," Link finished with a smile. "I think."

The others applauded him, Falco whistling and Peach with tears in her eyes. In the back of the crowd of twenty-four, I even saw Ganondorf with the barest of smiles. All I could do was stand there, stunned, but so pleased at the same time.

Link so rarely spoke, yet he was so free with Doug in ways even I hadn't learned. Were all of these bonds, these relationships, this miniature society, under my nose the entire time? How much had I missed while I was consumed within myself? Even if I had shown up and lived amongst the others, I felt no more human than The Machine, separated from the others, wrapped up in their own tormented soul and being consumed by the fight.

I knew now was as good a time as ever to start living again.

I walked into the crowd and became a part of it. This was testing the waters, but despite by distance and ignorance I was not left out of the ball.

Falco found me the tape recorder, handing it over while saying I was the only person on Earth who even cared about those.

To Link, we exchanged generic gifts that even now I cannot remember, but I was sure to tell him that I looked forward to conversing with him more. As usual, he didn't respond with anything more than a nod, but I was looking forward to building the rapport.

Peach gave me another scarf, possibly noticing how tight Impa's was around my neck, secure from thieves and liars.

The Ice Climbers gave me three jars of soup they swore would help keep my health up.

I knew that I was just a small part of their world, a piece of the puzzle, but I realized I'd rather be there than anywhere else.

Finally, there was Ganondorf.

I met him under the mistletoe underneath a stone arch on the edge of the park. "In your dreams," I told him.

"My nightmares, more like."

I smiled, enjoying the familiar banter. I felt him place a hand on my shoulder, and look me directly in the eye. I clenched my fist, forcing myself to be strong in his gaze.

"You're changing," was all he said.

I could no longer lie. "I will be. I won't be here much longer."

"I should hope you haven't retired early, Princess," he responded, forcing a smirk to hide his concern.

"It will make sense soon."

He nodded. "I'd gotten you a gift, a rather miniscule one, but one I think you would enjoy." With his free hand, he took the fist I had clenched. Slowly, my fingers pried open, and I was surprised by the feeling of cloth.

"Oh."

A roll of wrist tape nestled in my hand as he let go. I smiled, not sure of what it was for, but figuring it was a nice sentiment. "Thank you," I told him.

"You're welcome," he replied, "and I hope this means you won't stop fighting."

"I'd never dreamt of it," I promised.

* * *

The next day, I began my meditation, ending the way I began. I fell into the nothingness, letting it give me peace, taking Zelda with it. My fall into desire, however, surprised me with its difference. Life flashed before my eyes. Every little moment I'd experienced in the last few weeks ran through my veins and grew. I imagined myself fighting brilliantly, impressing the audience. I pictured myself falling, but being picked up by the friends who supported me. I saw myself as the leader, not in my costume but in clothes befitting someone strong and capable, with the form I'd acquired. I felt myself in love, the attraction in its purest, blindest form with nothing other than the feeling, knowing I could create it again.

I saw it all, then none at all, as I woke up. I took the potion of Sheik, let myself drop like the stony words that I could never say, and then rise like the warrior I knew I could be. I clothed myself in Sheik's garb, tying Impa's scarf around my neck. This was the warrior. This was the fighter I knew I could be. However, I knew that aside from the scarf, Sheik would only be skin-deep for I.

I was not Zelda, I was not quite Sheik.

I was me.

I took my new cassette player, placing the one tape I had into the player, and letting it play. The deep-voiced singer, emotions on his sleeve only if one could visualize the music, sang that he would not be a runaway. His voice was fearful, and I recognized that I was taking a gigantic risk that could, according to him, be _"another thing coming undone, and taking us over."_

I responded by changing the song. The song changed to the one that played during my time with Samus. For a moment, I think of her with pity, wondering if she was broken as I was, but I could only listen to the song for a few moments before a feeling of anxiety overtook my stomach.

No easy fixes yet, I switched the song, allowing him to sing possibly the one encouraging line on the entire tape.

" _I could walk out, but I won't."_

Neither will I.

I took the potion that I knew to be Zelda's DNA, holding it to my chest in respect for the twenty-six years she served me until she could no longer. Then, I smashed it on the table, letting her dissolve into liquid that would eventually dry up on the floor, leaving her mark in my room and on my life I would not soon forget.

I said my goodbyes with a Hylian prayer, and left the room.


	6. where you're going it's hard to see

The day before Christmas is chosen as the beginning of the tournament, I'd learn, because it lets people find ways to celebrate the fights with their loved ones, yet still go home the next day and partake in more traditional festivities before the days pass and they become mundane, everyday pieces of winter.

I know that tomorrow, the same would be the case for me. I will fight today. I will show the world who I am, why I am, and why I should be. My fight is not just on the stage, it is real. It is with the world at large, with a society that dressed me up how it wanted to, and who will desperately try and tie the strings back onto a dead doll.

I will fight that fight for me, and tomorrow I will be under the trees in the dorms with the friends I retain. For the first time in my entire stint, I will return all that they gave me. I will share with Peach all of the kind words I'd never said to her, never knew she deserved, out of pride for her being happy with who she was even when I thought she shouldn't. I will talk to Link, ask him to speak, and learn his character, support him in his love in the way I know he would for me. I will finally give my gift to Ganondorf ( _The Art of War_ by Sun Tzu, which might not have been the best gift for your adversary, were I not wholly prepared for him) so he can become as strong a fighter as I hoped to be. I will thank the Ice Climbers for their help and build a friendship with them so they will have me to make them as strong as their soup has made me.

Most importantly, I'll talk to Falco, and tell him everything I know about Peach that could make her happy, as limited as it is, and thank him for teaching me what I assume the meaning of Christmas is: giving, but in that I could never give to others all that I should if I never got my house in order.

I will do that tomorrow, but first it is time to give to myself. It is time to fight.

If only out of pity for me, the first match was between The Machine and I. I'd imagine any betting man, woman, or child had their money on The Machine to make a few pence, and I could only hope they had not bet too much. I;d been practicing, you see. It was erratic, and it was flimsy, but I have never felt so powerful.

No one knew of my change as I entered the resting room. As predicted, I was alone, using the skills I learned as a Sheikah to bypass any obstacles or prying eyes as I made my way to the fight. If this was enough to disqualify me, so be it, but not without one fight. One match against my enemy was all I needed. Win, lose, or draw, the world would know I was here to stay.

I absently read the betting odds. Below it was a tier list, showing expert odds on who was the best bet and who was a lost cause. Currently the top was taken by Peach, who was living the fantasy I gave up of being the princess to match all fighters. Close behind her I found my friends- Falco, the Ice Climbers, Ganon. Separating them all from the Mothership was The Machine, in second place.

I forget where I was, but I'm assuming it was in the late twenties, possibly just ahead of Pichu and Game and Watch.

I set it down when I hear the beeping that indicated that the transporter had arrived. I walked out into the corridor, the mundane methods of transport suddenly becoming an entrancing set piece. With measured steps, I let the transporter take me, wrapping the new roll of wrist tape much like Samus wrapped my scarf around her arms.

Now we are here, my readers. Now it is time to cut the strings for good. No half-fixes, no clumsy infrastructure, no desperate retying. It's time for the new star to take her place on the stage. In many ways, she is the same as the old star, but in many ways, she is completely different.

It's time for the story to change.

I can hear the announcer on the stage announce my arrival, their words grandiose and flattering. "Fighting her is the princess of Hyrule, ready to show the world she is capable of more than they think, Zelda…"

I leap off of the transporter onto a blank, metallic stage with only one purple platform. I let the crowd gasp. I try and trace down familiar faces, seeing the Smashers in the VIP box looking at me with almost uniform dropped jaws. Falco jumps around giddily, as though he had reached his favorite part in an action movie. Peach points at my scarf, tears in her eyes as she smiled. Like the awestruck young ones they were, the Ice Climbers stand with their hands over their mouth, eyes gleaming in excitement. Link taps Ganondorf on the shoulder, pointing at me, still voiceless. Ganondorf grins, nodding at me.

I face The Machine as the announcer blurts, "...who in the hell is that?"

That, dear announcer, is _me._

The Machine takes a step backward from me. I see my reflection in her helmet before the surface becomes fogged from the inside. I know I have the grin of a hunter thirsting for blood as red as my eyes have become.

The announcer tries to explain to the audience that the officials are consulting each other as to how to deal with me, and the fight will begin soon. I don't care. Punching the Coat-of-Arms on my chest, I beckon for her to do the same. She accepts.

They wait for Zelda to come back, but the princess is dead.

I stare the Machine down, then I attack, feeling every one of my twenty-six years and one-hundred-and-seventeen days rush through my veins, taking them over and starting anew with day one.

It was time to leave the world with a Christmas gift they'd never forget.


End file.
